The koi pond turned black again.
Lyra didn't hesitate this time. She stood barefoot on the glass floor, staring down at the pulsing rectangle of light beneath the surface. Maris joined her, silent, her golden robe trailing behind her like a whisper.
"It's stronger tonight," Maris said.
Lyra nodded. "It's ready."
They stepped forward.
The glass gave way.
They fell.
The Descent
The velvet swallowed them whole.
There was no gravity, no direction — just sensation. Lyra felt warmth, then cold, then something like grief. Maris gasped beside her, clutching Lyra's hand.
Then the velvet peeled away.
They landed in a room that wasn't a room.
The Memory
It looked like a classroom — but older, faded, and flickering. The walls were lined with mirrors, but none showed reflections. The desks were made of stone. The air smelled like ink and thunder.
In the center stood a figure.
Porcelain mask. Velvet robes. Silver hair.
Madame Calyx.
She didn't speak. She moved slowly, placing books on each desk. Lyra watched, frozen. Maris trembled.
Then Calyx turned.
Her mask cracked.
And Lyra saw her own face beneath it.
The Collapse
Lyra screamed.
The room shattered.
She was falling again — but this time, she wasn't alone. Memories swirled around her. A hallway with no doors. A birthday with no guests. A mirror that whispered her name.
Maris shouted, "It's not yours!"
Lyra gasped, "It feels like mine!"
They landed in their dorm.
The koi pond was clear.
The book was open.
New ink shimmered:
> "She stitched herself into the school. That's why she never left."
Maris whispered, "You saw her."
Lyra nodded. "I was her."
The School Responds
The next morning, the Velvet Atrium was silent.
No floating trays. No spiral steps. Just stillness.
Students whispered. Professors watched.
Cassian Thorn approached Lyra. "You triggered something."
Nova Quinn danced nearby, murmuring, "The mirrors are waking."
Zephyr Vale stared at the ceiling. "She's bleeding through."
Saphira Wynn cornered Maris. "You need to stop."
Maris didn't flinch. "We can't."
Class: Mirror Theory
Professor Umbra led them into a room lined with mirrors.
"Today," she said, "you will see what the school sees."
Lyra stepped forward.
The mirror showed Madame Calyx.
Then it showed Lyra.
Then it cracked.
Umbra whispered, "You're stitched wrong. That's why you fit."
That night, the book pulsed violently.
New ink appeared:
> "The fifth tower is not buried. It is disguised."
Lyra stared.
Maris whispered, "It's here."
Lyra nodded. "And it's watching."